


Transition

by akamww3



Series: Encounters [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Homecoming, Brief swearing, Established Relationship, F/M, Mollcroft, Mycroft and Molly, Post-TAB Setting, Sexual Content (Mature), Sherlock is a Bit Good, moving forward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamww3/pseuds/akamww3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>A last-minute trip changes Mycroft’s and Molly’s plans … and secrets are revealed, sometimes from unexpected sources</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transition

**Author's Note:**

> _~ Tuesday morning ~_

“I’m going for a coffee. Do you want one?”

“Mmm.”

John Watson huffed in annoyance at the other man’s inattention, then went out the lab door … and immediately came back through it and hurried across the room to Sherlock’s work station. “Oh god - what’s _he_ doing at Barts?”

“Hmm?”

“Your _brother_ – what’s _he_ want?” John hissed out of the corner of his mouth as the door was pushed inward and Mycroft stepped into the opening.

“Not my problem,” Sherlock said absentmindedly, without looking up.

John watched intently as Mycroft glanced around the room, that steely blue gaze pausing for a moment on the other two men, then moving on with a flick of his brows. John released a long breath when Mycroft stepped back into the corridor and the lab door slowly closed behind him. “What do you think he wants?”

“Not us.” Sherlock finally raised his head and looked at John curiously. “You’re actually concerned about my brother … how odd,” he murmured and glanced toward the door before bending over the microscope again. “He’s looking for Molly,” he added in a tone of bored indifference.

“Oh, Molly - of course,” John muttered, then his eyes widened. “Why _Molly?_ What’s she done? Is she in danger?”

“More than you know,” Sherlock said under his breath, then, “Hand me that slide.”

~ ~ ~

Molly looked up when the morgue door swung open … and stared, mouth agape, when Mycroft walked in. She pushed her goggles onto her forehead and carefully set the bone saw aside. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but what are you _doing_ here?”

“Molly,” he greeted her calmly as he came to a halt on the other side of the post mortem table, then looked from her to the body and raised his brows. “Is this a bad time?”

However inappropriate the setting, Molly couldn’t help but grin at his wry tone. “It’s all right – I haven’t started yet,” she said, removing the goggles and tossing them beside the saw. “Give me five minutes.” She paused as she reached for the zipper on the black bag. “Do you want to wait in my office?”

“Go ahead. I’ll wait for you here,” he said, then watched as Molly carefully arranged the bag before zipping it closed and using her foot to unlock the wheels on the cart. He stepped closer when she started the cart rolling. “May I help?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m used to shifting bodies … and isn’t _that_ a bizarre thing for you to hear me say.” She grinned again at Mycroft’s snort and continued to the cooling unit. Once finished there, she removed and tossed her gloves into a medical waste bin, then shrugged off her lab coat after noticing blood on the cuff and dropped it into the laundry bin before crossing to the sink to wash her hands. “Are you here on official business?”

“No,” he said as he came up behind her, then glanced over his shoulder before bending to kiss the cheek she tilted toward him. “I need to talk to you.”

Molly gave him a sidelong glance as she dried her hands. “Is there a problem?”

“A change of plans,” he said, following behind as she crossed the morgue and went out the door. After a silent trip to her office, Mycroft stepped aside, then followed Molly in and shut the door. When she turned to face him, he grasped her hips and pulled her close as he leaned against the door. “First things first,” he murmured before lowering his head to kiss her … then shifted his hands to the small of her back as their mouths moved slowly over each other’s. Molly pressed closer and curved a hand around his neck, lifting onto her toes to deepen the kiss, and his lips immediately parted, one hand sliding up her ribs to cup her breast. One slow kiss followed another until Mycroft finally took a firm hold of Molly’s waist and gently set her away from him. “Molly – I have to go,” he said huskily.

“I know you need to get back to the office –”

“No, I have to get to the airport,” he clarified, “almost as soon as I leave here.”

“Oh.” Molly straightened her shirt as she stepped away from him. “I suppose you can’t say where you’re –”

“No.”

“Do you know when you’ll be returning?”

“Late Friday, most likely.”

“That quickly?”

 _“Mmm.”_ Mycroft straightened and reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. “I wanted to give you this,” he said, pressing a cool piece of metal into her hand. “You’ll need a personal security code as well. The number should be something significant enough to remember without writing it down, but nothing obvious.”

Molly stared at the house key resting on her palm and concentrated on breathing normally. “What about …,” she paused for a moment before suggesting a code, then looked up when he didn’t reply. “That’s –”

“I know what it is,” he said evenly, and Molly slowly flushed at the look he gave her. “I’ll have your code added to my security program today. You’ll be able to enter and leave the house freely by tonight.”

They stared at each other in silence for several moments, and suddenly Molly couldn’t stand to wait any longer. She had to tell him. “Mycroft, I, um –”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he broke in, “but whatever it is, can we talk about it later? I really do need to go.”

“Of course.” There’d be plenty of laters for secrets to be revealed, she thought.

“I’ll let you know if my return will be delayed,” he said and briefly brushed his lips over hers before stepping aside to open the door and pass through it. He glanced at Molly as she fell into step beside him. “You don’t have to show me out.”

“I want to,” she insisted and slipped her hand around his elbow. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” he said and proved it by bending his arm and pressing her hand closer to his side.

They said nothing more until they went through the outside door and were on the pavement. Molly glanced at the familiar car parked at the curb and dropped her hand. “Take care, Mycroft,” she said softly, holding his gaze. “I’ll be waiting when you get home.” For one tense moment, she thought he was going to bend to her again, but instead he lifted his chin, turned away and strode the few paces to the open car door and climbed in. Molly smiled at Simon as he got into the driver’s seat, then her gaze shifted back to the rear door … and her smile widened when the window smoothly lowered several inches and Mycroft’s eyes met hers. His lips briefly curved and he lifted a hand, then the window rose between them as the car pulled swiftly away. Molly watched until it merged into other traffic, then walked back to her office. Once there, she unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk, removed her handbag, and carefully worked Mycroft’s key onto her key ring.

As for the security code, she’d never forget the date that she and Mycroft were first together.

Apparently, neither would he.

_~~~~~_

_~ Wednesday evening ~_

As her hand dropped from the knocker, Molly glanced around at several people passing behind her on the pavement, then turned back with a smile when the door opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared within its frame.

“Oh, hello, dear,” the sprightly landlady said with a pleasant smile.

“Hi, Mrs. Hudson. Is Sherlock home?”

“Go on up, dear. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

Before Molly had even reached the first landing, Sherlock proved his landlady wrong. “Oh _god_ – what now?” He groaned loudly as she continued up the stairs. “What did I tell you?

“Sherlock –”

He glanced at her as she came through the open door, then lowered his head and adjusted the microscope. “Oh no you don’t, Molly Hooper,” he said quickly. “I told you … no confidences.” He looked up again and scowled. “Do _not_ tell me anything. I don’t want to hear it.”

“But Sherlock –”

_“No!”_

“Mycroft left for … your mother got me to … I told her … do you think she’ll –”

“Are you suddenly incapable of completing a sentence?”

Molly ignored Sherlock’s rudeness. “We visited your parents last Sunday, and your mother got me to …,” Molly stopped again. “Um, do you think she’d tell Mycroft something I told her in confidence?”

“What – that you love my brother … however mind-boggling that fact might be?”

_“W-w-what?”_

An epic eye roll from Sherlock, then: “Anyone with eyes – anyone _without_ eyes – could deduce how you feel.” He gave a disgusted snort. “Except for brother dear apparently. He can be willfully blind sometimes.”

“But he – I just … I don’t … _he_ doesn’t -”

“Don’t be absurd, Molly. Of _course_ Mycroft loves you – or whatever approximation of that sentiment he’s capable of feeling,” he grimaced. “For _god’s_ sake – my brother was in a bind to catch a plane at short notice and yet he took time to find you at Barts?” He snorted derisively. “For brother dear, that’s a statement of devotion.”

“But –”

“What more proof do you need?” Sherlock stared at her impatiently for another moment, then bent his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “Good luck getting him to ever say it to you.”

“If only I could be sure –”

Sherlock glanced up with an affronted expression on his face. “Just whom do you think you’re talking to?”

A brief silence, then: “Oh my god, Sherlock … do you truly believe –”

“Go away, Molly. I’m busy.”

“All right, all right - I’m going,” she said as she grabbed her handbag, then, _“Thank you, Sherlock!”_

“Oh for – _get off!”_ The gentleness with which he broke Molly’s sudden stranglehold on his neck was in stark contrast to the harshness of his words. “Now go away.” Molly hurried out the door grinning and ran light-footed down the stairs, then grinned more widely at the parting shot he bellowed just as she hopped off the bottom step. _“AND DON’T COME BACK!”_

_~~~~~_

_~ Early Friday Evening ~_

Molly exited Green Park Station, hailed a taxi, and quickly climbed in when one drew to a stop in front of her. The extravagance made her wince but it was only a short trip to Mycroft’s and she was self-conscious about arriving on his street for the first time by foot. She was also unsure about having the driver take her directly to the front door, but assumed Mycroft would have informed her if doing that was a security concern. In the end, she exited the taxi outside his house and quickly ran up the steps before stopping abruptly to study the security panel. She set down her duffle bag, glanced over her shoulder, then carefully punched in her code while using her free hand to block anyone else’s view – even that of any MI6 sharpshooter who might be watching from a roof three houses’ distant. A nervous giggle broke from her, then she punched in the last digit, breath held, half expecting alarms to go off. When the panel indicated she was cleared for access, she quickly grabbed her bag and hurried inside once she unlocked the door. Considering how jumpy she must have appeared, she wouldn’t be surprised if a nosy neighbor had informed the police.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered, then grimaced to think she’d paid no real attention to the front façade of the house – a view she’d not seen before – and all because of fanciful cloak and danger imaginings. She adjusted her grip on her duffle bag, then walked down the front hall, passing Mycroft’s office on the left and the small sitting room on the right … and heard unexpected noises when she reached the base of the staircase. “Hello?” She relaxed but was surprised when Mrs. Bell came out of the kitchen.

“Good evening, Dr. Hooper,” the housekeeper said politely, her eyes briefly lowering to the bag Molly was holding. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Bell.” Molly shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Um, I’ll just take my things to – _upstairs,”_ she said, trying desperately to keep from blushing.

“Would you like some help?”

“Um, no thank you, Mrs. Bell.”

The older woman half turned and lifted a hand toward the kitchen. “Since Mr. Holmes has been out of town for a few days, I’ve been preparing some meals that can be re-heated over the weekend. There’s a steak and kidney pie that should be done in about twenty minutes if you’re interested.”

“That’s sounds wonderful,” Molly said. “I’ll be back down after …” She waved her hand vaguely toward the ceiling.

“All right, Dr. Hooper. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Mycroft hadn’t told her the housekeeper might still be there, she thought as she stepped into the lift, but he might not have considered she needed to be warned. He probably took her presence during the week for granted.

~ ~ ~

Molly arranged the few toiletries she’d brought on the vanity opposite the one she knew Mycroft used, hung her sleepshirt and dressing gown on a nearby hook, then returned to the bedroom and placed her iPod and the book she was currently reading on the bed table and her handbag and slippers on the floor by the bed. She looked around, then left her duffle in the corner near the bed. She wasn’t sure where she should put her things and certainly didn’t want to move anything in his dressing room.

~ ~ ~

“Mr. Holmes is quite handy around the kitchen,” Mrs. Bell said as she started the dishwasher, “but I’m sure he’ll be tired after his trip so I wanted to leave the refrigerator well-stocked.”

Molly swallowed the last bit of steak and looked up when the housekeeper stopped in the archway between kitchen and breakfast nook. “This was delicious,” she said with a smile. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Dr. Hooper. There’s plenty left for both of you and, as I said, several other meals in the refrigerator that are ready to be reheated.” She glanced around the kitchen and nodded to herself. “I’ll be leaving then. If you or Mr. Holmes need me –”

“We should be fine, Mrs. Bell. Enjoy your weekend.”

Molly listened as the lift took the housekeeper downstairs to her flat. When the sound of the motor faded, Molly stopped the dishwasher to add her plate and cutlery, then re-filled her wineglass and took the lift in the opposite direction. She got out on the third floor, went up the spiral staircase to the roof, then pushed the heavy steel door open after entering her security code. It was a glorious, spring evening after a typically rainy day, and she drew a deep breath before setting her glass down on a table. She glanced around before pulling the cover off one of the loungers and shifting it to face westward. After retrieving her glass, she dropped onto the lounger, stretched out her legs with a sigh, and sipped her wine while enjoying the setting sun.

Molly eventually returned to the kitchen to wash her wineglass, then wandered around the townhouse for a while, peeking into rooms, re-familiarizing herself with the layout of the floors. At half past ten, she returned to Mycroft’s suite and had a long soak in the bathtub and washed her hair. After drying her hair, she looked at herself in the mirror and considered her choice of sleepwear. A pale pink cotton sleepshirt wasn’t exactly sexy, but normally Mycroft didn’t seem to pay any attention to what she wore – and when it came to bed, he preferred her bare skin to anything else. Molly pressed a hand to her stomach when she felt an inner stirring at the thought. _Not long now._

_~~~~~_

_~ Late Friday night ~_

Mycroft slid several files into his briefcase and snapped it shut before glancing around the table where their small contingent had been having a debriefing. “I believe that’s it,” he said evenly as he rose to his feet and turned toward Lady Smallwood.

“Someone seems in a hurry to leave.” The unexpectedly personal comment – and particularly the mocking tone to it - caused half the people in attendance to freeze in place, trying not to draw any unwanted attention to themselves. “Is the little lady waiting for you at home, Mycroft?”

Mycroft’s gaze briefly fell on the three men sitting so stiffly on the other side of the table, causing them to quickly gather their things and exit the room. He then pointedly lifted his brows at Lady Smallwood, who met his eyes with a level stare. His gaze visibly hardened before he turned toward the last member of their group.

“You have something more to say, Edwin?” Their eyes met and held until the other man’s gaze dropped to the papers set before him. “No? I strongly suggest you refrain from making such comments in the future either to or about me or anyone personally associated with me.” He started to turn without waiting for a response, but paused to add, “If I hear that you or your representatives have made any inquiries, directly or indirectly, related to Dr. Hooper beyond what’s already in her file, or have otherwise attempted to contact her in any manner, you’ll have to answer to me.”

A charged silence continued until Sir Edwin broke it with an unconvincing chuckle. “You’re over-reacting, Mycroft,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “It was a joke – admittedly a lame one.”

Mycroft’s gaze never wavered. “Do you understand me, Edwin?”

“Gentlemen,” Lady Smallwood said chidingly, hiding her relief when Mycroft turned toward her. She knew him well enough to understand that, in doing so, he had dismissed Sir Edwin from further consideration – at least for the moment. “There’s one other matter I’d like to discuss,” she said, then added with a sidelong glance at Mycroft, “Another twenty minutes, max.” She looked at the security guard at the far end of the room and raised her voice. “Would you please ask the others to come back in?”

~~~~~

_~ Midnight and Then Some ~_

Molly was still reading at half past twelve when the sound of the lift broke the silence. She hadn’t heard Mycroft come in, but knew it was him … unless some crazed killer had breached his security. She actually felt a frisson of fear as she crossed the room and grinned to herself at her over-active imagination.

Mycroft strode out of the lift, carrying a suit bag in each hand, and briefly paused when he saw Molly waiting just inside his open door.

“Hey,” she said. _How original._

“Hey yourself,” he said, coming to a stop in front of her. Molly hesitated, not sure how he might feel now that her “invasion” of his private space in his absence had actually occurred. Her fingers were unconsciously twisting the sides of her sleepshirt and the sole of one foot was rubbing the top of the other, but Mycroft didn’t need those outward signs of nervousness to sense her uncertainty. “I hope you’ve made yourself at home,” he said softly, dropping his bags as he opened his arms … then grunted from the impact when she slammed against him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. He rubbed his hands briskly, encouragingly, over her back and after a few moments she loosened her hold so she could see his face.

“You look tired, Mycroft.”

“I am a bit,” he admitted, lifting a hand to brush some hair off her face.

“Are you hungry? Mrs. Bell made some –”

“No … all I really want is a shower and then bed. To sleep,” he said, then bent to give her a quick kiss. “But give me a few hours and I’ll be ready … _not_ to sleep.”

Molly’s cheeks turned rosy. “Would you like me to wash your back?”

“Not this time.” He glanced past her at the bed. “Your book’s waiting.”

“Let me at least –” Molly quickly stooped to pick up his bags, ignoring his exasperated sigh. “Where do you want these?”

He waved a hand toward the dressing room and followed her in, shrugging out of his jacket and moving past her to hang it on the valet stand … while she set the bags just inside the door, straightened and propped her back against the jamb. Mycroft finished unbuttoning his waistcoat and started on his shirt buttons, then paused and looked at her for a moment before raising his brows. His eyes brightened with amusement as he let his shirt fall open and started to release the fastening on his trousers.

Molly’s eyes lifted to his, and she flushed right on cue. “I’ll, um, leave you to it then,” she said and immediately fled, so missed the way Mycroft smiled to himself as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. Once he’d done so, he rested his elbows on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees, and looked at the open door thoughtfully … for a few moments considering … then shook his head and rose to his feet to finish undressing.

~ ~ ~

Molly was sitting up with her book propped on raised knees when Mycroft came through the dressing room door, wearily crawled onto the bed and fell face down on his pillow with a tired groan and a gruff _“g’night.”_ She studied his bare back for a few moments, then leaned over to thumb a drop of water from the nape of his neck and press a light kiss between his shoulder blades … and cursed silently when his muscles tensed and he mumbled her name while shifting as if to push himself up. _“Shhh,”_ she quickly whispered, brushing her hand over his head soothingly, “ _shhh_ \- go to sleep, Mycroft.” She kept stroking his hair until he relaxed again, then she twisted to switch off the lamp and reached for the covers, pulling the duvet up and over them. She took a deep breath as she cuddled closer and wrapped her arm around his waist with a contented sigh. Within ten minutes, she followed him into sleep …

… and woke up at half past five, needing the loo. Without opening her eyes, she scooted to the edge of the bed and promptly stumbled onto the floor with a dull thud. “Well … _shit,”_ she muttered under her breath when she’d accounted for all four limbs.

“Molly?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you all right?”

Molly heard the rustling of bedclothes as Mycroft sat up. “Other than feeling like a prize idiot, yes,” she grumbled as she pushed herself to her feet and rubbed her bottom. “Go back to sleep. I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said, then carefully made her way through Mycroft’s dressing room and into the ensuite using the dim light filtering through the window coverings. When she exited the loo a few minutes later, she saw Mycroft doing the same thing at the far end of the bathroom and tugged her sleepshirt down her thighs as she walked toward him. She couldn’t resist running her eyes over his bare chest, following the chest hair as it tapered into a narrow central strip at the point where his pajama bottoms had slipped low on his belly. _Down girl_ , she told herself fiercely as Mycroft bent over to splash water on his face. “Do you feel better?”

“It’s nothing that a few more hours of sleep won’t fix,” he said, drying his face with a hand towel as he turned to lean against the edge of the vanity, crossing his ankles as his gaze slowly dropped down her body. “Did you fall off the step?”

“No, I forgot where we were and how high the bed is and slid off the side,” she said, smiling ruefully as she rubbed her hip.

He returned the towel to its hook, then straightened with a low grunt. “Are you ready to go back to bed?” He padded barefoot toward her, then slung his arm around her waist and gently rubbed her hip. “How sore is it?”

Molly wrinkled her nose as she glanced up at him. “My hip’s fine – really. Just my pride was bruised.”

They passed through the dressing room, then crawled into bed from opposite sides before meeting in the middle. Molly stretched out on her back, then rolled over, smiling when Mycroft shifted closer and aligned his body along hers. She sighed when his hand slid to her stomach but was surprised when he worked his other arm under her and then flattened both hands, fingers laced, on her belly. After a few moments, he leaned over her shoulder, told her to hold on, and suddenly rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Molly wiggled and huffed a laugh at finding herself lying on top of him, her back to his front, and cocked her head to the side. “What are you doing?”

Mycroft’s cheek brushed hers as he lifted his head to kiss the side of her neck. “I assume that’s a rhetorical question,” he murmured in her ear, causing a shiver to race through her body. “Relax for me,” he urged, grasping her waist to slide her up his body until their heads were level, then dragged her sleepshirt up and over her head before shifting her a fraction higher. “Let your head rest on the pillow.”

Molly did as he said, tilting her head backwards over his shoulder, and felt heat rise from her core when she saw how the arch of her upper body displayed her breasts and torso … like a figurehead on the prow of a pirate’s ship … something Mycroft was quick to exploit. His hands smoothed over the plane of her stomach and up her ribcage to skim over her breasts, his palms tracing circles over them, before reversing course to her belly. His fingers drew circles around her navel, then dipped into it and moved lower still, tracing lines across the sensitive skin over her hip joints … back and forth from the outside of each hip to her inner thighs … moving upward again to rub circles over the soft skin of her belly, his fingers pressing firmly against her taut stomach muscles, then slowly sliding up her torso … pausing when a sudden quake shook her body. She twisted the sheet between her fingers, then scrabbled for something to hold on to until she finally stretched her arms overhead and tucked her hands, palms up, under their heads. Her breasts felt swollen, her nipples drawn almost painfully tight, so much so that she groaned with relief when he covered her breasts with his palms, cupping them and pressing against her, then firmly massaging them, catching and squeezing her nipples between his index and middle fingers. Molly’s body was stretched tautly over him, from her head pressed hard on his pillow to the arches of her feet curving inward over his shins.

“Mycroft –” She moaned, then twisted her head to the side and gasped against his throat. “Not like this - I want you inside me.”

“Soon,” he murmured, squeezing and gently tugging on her nipples as she strained against him and her chest rose and fell with sharp inhalations. He pinched her nipples and rhythmically rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers in time with her gasps, then flattened his palms over her breasts and circled them again before sliding his hands back down her torso.

“Mycroft, please,” she panted, squirming restlessly _._

 _“Shhh,_ just a few more minutes,” he murmured as his fingers finally brushed through her short curls and stroked the moist flesh between her thighs. Molly’s feverish writhing stilled as she focused on what his hand was doing and opened her legs wider, bending her knees and bracing her feet flat against the bed as she tilted her hips upward … crying out when he stiffened his fingers and rubbed them along her cleft, gently separating the slick folds and pressing inward. She gave a muffled exclamation, flexing her fingers under their heads as she turned her face toward him, moaning incoherently against the side of his head when his fingers probed deeper, stroking firmly, drawing more sounds of pleasure from her. He murmured encouragement … praising the wet softness of her flesh against his fingers, the warm smoothness of her inner walls as he slid a third finger deep inside her. He ran his left hand back up her torso and cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth, back and forth over her nipple, then took it between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it … tugged on it … rolled it … while the fingers of his right hand stroked deeper, even firmer, more methodically between her thighs, the wet sucking noises increasing as Molly circled her hips and lifted higher against his hand, straining … straining … then abruptly freezing before she collapsed on him, her body shaking, muscles quivering, breasts heaving. Her breath caught on a moan when he slowly withdrew his fingers … reluctantly leaving her silky heat and wet, pulsating depths … and slid his palms over her body to cover her breasts. She finally released a long breath and seemed to melt bonelessly over him.

Mycroft could no longer ignore the tension in his own body and for a few moments feared he’d come without any direct stimulation. He smoothed his palms from her breasts, to her midriff, pausing over her belly … still feeling faint internal quivering … and slid lower to brush his fingers from side to side over the thin, extra-sensitive skin where her torso met her thighs … back and forth, back and forth … then eventually flattened his hands on her stomach and waited.

It wasn’t long before Molly stirred and lifted her head. “Mycroft –” She was so close that their faces brushed when he turned his head toward her. “What about you?”

“Don’t mind me,” he said dryly, his breathing deepening when she shifted as if to get up. “Here, let me help –” He broke off since Molly obviously needed no assistance. She simply bent her legs under her on either side of him and sat straight up on his stomach in one smooth movement. He felt a bit envious of her flexibility, then forgot that and drew a sharp breath when she firmly grasped his cock.

Molly hesitated, then looked at him over her shoulder, brows raised questioningly. “Do you want me to –”

“Whatever you want, but I’m not going to last long,” he warned. “There may come a gusher if you’re not careful.”

Her head lowered as she drew her fists slowly up his shaft, but the rough noise he made in his throat caused her to change tactics ... to instead climb off him and lift herself onto all fours before giving him a sidelong glance. Mycroft’s eyes held hers for one charged moment before he quickly pushed himself to his knees and carefully shifted into position behind her, grasping her hip with one hand as he took hold of his cock with the other, teasingly rubbing the head along her cleft, fitting himself between her moist folds, before slowly penetrating her. She arched her back as he slid further into her, moaning low in her throat, gasping as he flexed his hips and drove inward to the hilt with one hard thrust. Molly’s hips swiveled in a tight circle and she deliberately squeezed her internal muscles … the warm wet grip of her body tightening around him … and he fought against a too-quick end to the pleasure of their joining. “Be still for a moment – please, Molly,” he said, more grimly than he intended. She froze, which only tightened her muscles more … and he huffed a gruff laugh under his breath. _God._

Molly grunted as he slowly withdrew, inch by inch, then drove forcefully back into her. She arched her spine even further and tilted her hips higher, pushing against him. “Don’t hold back,” she panted.

Mycroft finally let himself go … the slapping of flesh and muffled groans filling his ears as they rocked together. He was hovering on the edge, so close to coming, and he ground his teeth in an attempt to further delay the climax.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said again over her shoulder. He didn’t know whether to consider that a challenge or to accept it at face value since he’d already taken care of her. Without giving himself time for second thoughts, he abruptly pulled out of her and caught her to him, urging her over and onto her back. “W-w-what are you _doing,_ Mycroft!”

“I want to see your face,” he panted. Molly sank back onto the bed and reached for his shoulders as she encircled his hips with her legs and he carefully re-positioned himself before driving into her, thrusting deep … propping himself on his forearms, eyes locked with hers as his hips flexed, pumping steadily, then finally breaking rhythm, moving faster and more erratically as he lifted himself onto straightened arms and bore down, his pubic bone grinding against her mound. A moment more, two, then he groaned low, the raspy rumbling increasing in volume as he came explosively … muscles contracting, hips jerking spasmodically, unconsciously … the pleasure jolting through him, the liquid flow pushing through painfully sensitive tissues as his mind went blank and he emptied himself in bursts of heat deep within Molly … whose eyes and mouth suddenly opened wide as she gasped and her fingers dug into him, her muscles trembling, her core clenching and pulsating as another orgasm rippled like waves throughout her body.

~ ~ ~

Molly was first to regain her senses or to wake up – she wasn’t sure which – and wrinkled her nose, feeling amazingly relaxed but also sweaty and sticky and itchy and completely, deliciously encompassed by Mycroft. They’d lost consciousness or fallen straight asleep (whichever it was) - _after fucking each other’s brains out,_ she thought with a snort - and he’d collapsed on top of her … for once without apologizing ... something she’d been quite happy about at the time. She normally loved the feeling of his weight pressing down on her, but his chest hair was tickling her with each breath, her thighs were itching where one of his was thrown over them, her _belly_ was itching where their middles were stuck together – quite literally perhaps - and although it wasn’t an emergency yet, she could certainly use the loo. Plus, she really felt the need to sneeze. Even so, she didn’t want to wake him.

A few minutes later, she laughed aloud at his first mumbled word … one that pretty well summed up the situation, she thought ... as well as accurately describing what they’d done to each other.

Half an hour later, they’d both visited the loo, brushed their teeth and taken a quick, completely practical joint shower before more or less falling face down on the bed. The sun might have risen, but there was no earthly reason for them to follow its example.

~~~~~

_~ Saturday Mid-Morning ~_

Molly came through the dressing room wearing her coral swimming suit and stopped at the foot of the bed, planting her hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and stared at Mycroft. He was still stretched out on his back on top of the covers, his feet casually crossed, hair rumpled, fingers laced behind his head on the pillow. The corners of his lips slowly curved, and she forced herself to frown. _Give me strength._

“Come on, Mycroft. A brisk swim’s just what you need to loosen your muscles and get your blood pumping after sitting for so long in meetings and on the plane.”

“I think the sex already took care of that,” he said, deadpan.

Molly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. She looked at him as she released it and wondered why she’d even consider urging him to leave the bed when … well, it was _Mycroft._ And a _bed._ “Come on,” she wheedled. “Swim, breakfast, then whatever you want. Whenever, wherever and however you want it.” She paused a moment, then cocked a hip and tilted her head. _Damn it,_ but a swim really would be good for him. “I brought your suit up when I got mine,” she added helpfully and deliberately shrugged into the thick, terry-cloth robe she was carrying and flipped her braid over the collar. “I’m ready to go, so how about it?”

~ ~ ~

Molly gripped the pool’s edge and watched appreciatively as Mycroft swam toward her. His long arms and legs propelling him smoothly and methodically through the water was quite an impressive sight to behold. _Arousing_ as well, she thought. Then again, she found everything he did arousing. The simple act of breathing, for example.

He pulled up when he finished the lap and looked at her curiously as he brushed water off his face. His brows rose when he noticed her flushed face, which she hoped he’d put down to over-exertion. “That’s thirty for me and even more laps for you,” she said quickly. “Are you ready to stop?”

“Whatever you want,” he said agreeably.

Rather than move to the ladder, Molly gripped the edge with both hands, bent her knees and pushed hard against the pool floor, springing up out of the water, and almost made it onto the decking, but the reverse rush of water and her height disadvantage was pulling her backward … when a large, firm hand flattened on her bottom and gave her a boost. She did a half-twist in the air and landed on the tiled edge, more or less sitting up, with an audible plop. She laughed as she brushed her hands over her face and shook the water from her fingers. “Five point two from the French judge. I think the sheer grace of movement charmed him.”

Mycroft was standing just in front of her, head tilted as he stared at her for several moments before rolling his eyes. She laughed again at his rather bemused expression and bent forward to cup his face with her hands. “Will it threaten your Ice-manliness to hear that I find you utterly adorable?” She leaned lower to give him a teasing peck on the lips, then released him and rocked backward, bracing her hands on the tile decking behind her as she grinned at him down the length of her body … and met his eyes. Her smile slowly faded as they stared at each other.

Those moments of stillness were broken when Mycroft wrapped his arms around her hips and tugged her toward him. She leaned forward and curled her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he lifted her and lowered her back into the water ... then waded away from the side of the pool. He bent his head to kiss her, and the damp coolness of his lips and face, the fresh tang of the saltwater and the feeling of his hard, wet chest pressed so closely against her made Molly’s head spin to the point that she clutched him even more tightly with all four limbs. When he lifted his head, she slowly opened her eyes and only then realized they actually _were_ spinning. Mycroft’s hands were cupped under her bottom and he was lightly bouncing her as he spun them around again, then again. Molly laughed in delight at such unexpected frivolity and strained against him as she stretched to press kisses along his jawline. He revolved again and again before he finally came to a stop in the middle of the pool … the water swirling around them, dragging at their swimsuits … and then they were kissing again – lips, cheeks, ears, necks … but lightly, teasingly, without any obvious passion.

When Mycroft eventually lifted his head and gazed down at Molly, all restraint fled and the long-suppressed words came from her mouth, somewhat breathlessly and completely without conscious thought or volition. “I love you, Mycroft Holmes.”

If he’d had any warning, he might have brushed the moment aside with a wry comment - something self-deprecatory to turn the attention off her and spare her feelings - but instead he felt shaken by her abrupt declaration …her brave statement of sentiment.

Visions of their time together – a fast moving picture of the most minute details he’d absorbed through sight, sound, touch, smell and taste – flooded his mind, and his brain momentarily whirred and whirled out of control in a way it hadn’t for many years … until he took charge and focused on the most extraordinary aspect of their entire relationship: The _welcome_ she’d offered, the unexpected refuge she’d provided from the life, the way of living, he’d chosen early on and had never consciously regretted.

Molly had welcomed him warmly and without reservation … into her home, into her body, into her life – from their first time together when he didn’t know he wanted that kind of acceptance, to when he came to crave it ... no matter how much he’d attempted to convince himself otherwise or had temporarily succeeded in rejecting it. Even that week, when their relationship was more established, he didn’t consciously think of her when they were apart … and yet he now realized, acknowledged, that somewhere within him she was always there.

And that was an entirely unprecedented feeling.

Mycroft blinked and focused on Molly’s face, which had paled with anxiety and the fear of rejection. Several seconds must have elapsed while he was lost in his thoughts, but how was he to respond? What did _he_ know of romance … of “love”? He had to suppress a grimace at the mere thought of it.

He blinked again, knowing she was waiting for a response and knowing she deserved so much more than he had to offer. He couldn’t with honesty echo the sentiment, but he also couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – reject it. Could he possibly … could it be that he actually _welcomed_ her declaration?

Mycroft finally responded in the only manner he could think of at the moment - with the one true emotion he readily identified within himself - and cupped her cheek and gently kissed her lips. _“Thank you,_ Molly.”

And apparently having Mycroft’s gratitude and acceptance was enough for the time being if Molly’s relieved smile and the flush of pleasure that brightened her eyes and cheeks were anything to go by. He kissed her again, then arched a brow. “So … breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I would _love_ to know your thoughts. This series is nearing an end, which makes me both happy and sad - but mostly happy when I consider how many hours and hours I've put into it. :)
> 
> My thanks to [DanannB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DanannB) for taking time to preview this for me and soothe some last-minute jitters. I actually _enjoyed_ writing this one, which was surely a bad sign!! :)
> 
> Please note that the storyline of this Encounters series is chronological, so reading earlier parts will show how they got to where they are now. :)
> 
> For anyone who might be interested, I'm on Tumblr and devote 99.99% of my time and effort there to Mycroft/Mark love. [WaitingForTheThaw](http://waitingforthethaw.tumblr.com/)


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